Thursday, December 18, 2008


Blaring music
coaxes the body to move

Repetitive choruses
draw out the song

Screamed profanities
bend the psyche

Tacit insults
force callous retorts

Lost repartee
harvested at wastelands

A wordsmith
sidetracked to hysterics

Thursday, November 20, 2008

For Voices of the Underground

These are for the poetry reading group of Bacolod City - the Voices of the Underground. I haven't been active for so long that I feel rusty.


It would be an honor for me
To take your hand,
And present to you the world of my time.
This favor that you ask of me
Is no chore but rather a privilege,
A task I shall take on with pride.
I give you this world.

Much has changed, true
But some things have remained the same.
War, famine, pollution, disease,
Death -- humankind has yet to overcome.
So forgive me if I tell you fib
For the truth is, I am much too ashamed
To give you this world.



Whispered half truths draw out our faults --
His guilt, her paranoia and my sin.
The final verdict dragged as nails
Scraped down an empty board
Gouge out his fault. Her obsession accused my misdeed
As a play written on a blank epitaph.

Her blood color the field and her face,
The object of my worst nightmare,
Stare back at me with eyes empty and devoid of life.

His flag flies, like a beacon of harm.
He bids my submission.

My will fades and I surrender.


We dreamt of a world far too perfect

We dreamt of a world full of possibilities --
One without unpleasant circumstances.
We dreamt of a world where dreams are unleashed
And nightmares are but trivial encumbrances.

We dreamt of a world where opportunity spells success
And failure as a closed door making way for open windows.
We dreamt of a world unconstrained by the physics of mortality,
Where goals are easily within our reach, each blessed to endow.

But reality trumped our dreams
And our lackluster lives undermined the make-believe.
Our visions were but delusions and we were ridiculously idiotic
To dream of a world far too perfect.

Thursday, October 16, 2008


And as promised..


I found her under a mask.
A mangled corpse -- gruesome, bloody.
On hindsight it seemed silly
but I turned to her to ask,
"Who killed you, little lass?"

She turned her head,
smiled and answered with a grin,
"For a boon, I give a tremendous task
to find my killer and unmask
who killed me, the little lass."

Half of me jumped in surprise
Half, with glee undisguised
For how often does one see
A spectacle such as this --
A dead girl talking with a mission for me?

On to the city I went where a festival commenced.
Man, woman, child wore a mask
Of hand painted smiles and a barrel of laughs.
I frowned, wondering which ass
killed the little lass.

Boldly, I approached a street chippy
Wearing, brazenly, a mask and a
Gown too red, too racy.
Bravely, daringly, I asked,
"Did you kill the little lass?"

Her mask, she took off swiftly
And there stood a child no more aged three.
In a voice so innocent, sweeter than any
she answered my once-valiant query,
"No, not I. Not I, surely."

With her reply, all the others turned to look
and their mask, they removed.
Not one who I thought they would be.
My question, unspoken to me they cast,
"Did you? Did you kill the little lass?"

It was then I realized
that I, I too, wore a disguise.
It shook me at how I couldn't see
the mask I wore so clearly.
And there, there ended my task.

For it was I.
I killed the little lass.


The city skies burn brighter
On flickering lights of gold.
The city folk come alive, with bold
masks and smiles of tales untold.
Merchants call to tease
The city's hunger willing to appease.
Walk, walk the city streets
Walk and dance to the frantic beats.
Smell the aroma of sweets and spices,
Of food once-raw -- cooked, flawless.
It's a night of fantasy, of make pretend
It's a night of imagination unleashed, unbent.

If you're wondering why I have two poems for MassKara, it's because I couldn't decide which to write - the festival or that of wearing masks which implies identities. So here they are.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

On Hiatus

Ok, I'm off for a week or so. It's a week before the exams and we all know how OC I can get about "studying". Or, well, trying to study.

I promise I'll post my poem for Voices of the Underground when I get back. Voices is a poetry reading group that meets every Saturday. I met the guys yesterday and was chosen (by the ballpen) to write a poem for MassKara or Masks.

I swear I'm posting a poem, okay? I'll be about the City of Smiles' October festival, MassKara. Just click on the link for more information about it. I'm inviting you to go and visit Bacolod. You'll enjoy it, I promise. =P

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Something to Share

This is an old poem that I found lying around unfinished. I decided that it was high time to finish it and here's the end result.. Now, I only ask for TWO things: 1.) for you to share your understanding of the poem and; 2.) criticize it. Please? ^_^ Thank you.

Archivists Farce

Wisps of smoke sucked into a vortex
cloud the mind of an anxious complex.
Being of body, form and frame,
a figure cracked impassive to fame.

Chaos emulated on a grotesque outfit.
Riot embedded on black skirts; scarlet alphabet
twist metaphors and cut the mind with halting wit
on a warped strain of a string quartet.

Ancient scripts' articulated tragedies
befell on to the innocent's guilty lies.
Nominal diction contend Dantesque allegories -
a trait false gods and idols struggle to personify.

Conflict with the demons redeemed this soul gone astray.
Genuine hounds direct back the real path of mischief
as blessings in disguise curse the wicked influence the way
devils, imps and fiends plague the diffident and ill at ease.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Invitation In Lust

Don't you see? She wants you.
Her eyes follow you as you pass by.
She licks her lips and moans
when you smile.

Her hand strays close to yours
when you are near.
She presses her body to you, when
you hug her. I fear

Her eyes tell too much
of her desire
to kiss your lips until
her touch sets you on fire.

She means to make
you forget of your love for another.
She means to douse you in lust,
to take her as your lover.

And thus, you are warned
of this succubus' charm.
Don't fall for it, boy. Ignore
her invitation to do you harm.

For Sunday Scribblings: #129 Invitation

I am very much uninspired and.. and.. like a zombie, I am walking around with a blank stare. I need...something! Anything! So.. Comments and constructive criticisms are invited. A warm hug and a steaming cup of coffee await you. Just click on the comment button. XP

Wednesday, September 17, 2008


I'm so uninspired. And I have a theory for it:

The moon wanes and I
have a hundred poems to write.
The moon fades - nothing.

Yes, I know. It's supposed to be a haiku but... it sucks.

Well, gives a new meaning to the word lunatic, doesn't it?

This is oh so insane.

Monday, September 15, 2008


The demon came
and put a seed of doubt
in man's heart asunder.

It's plan?
Mankind to conquer.

The angel came,
flew down
and planted another.

This time, a seed
of hope and courage yonder.

Man was left to pick,
to choose, a side
to ponder.

Which side will you take,
I wonder?

For One Single Impression


Hush, hear the pitter patter -
Tiny raindrops on the windows scatter.
If you don't keep quiet you may not hear
Listen closer, hush now, my dear.

Do you hear it now?

For Meme Express

**Uhm, its the best I could do today.. to tell you the truth, I think I'm still a bit...... intoxicated.

Sunday, September 14, 2008


If coffee can talk,
It will tell of success and victories.
Talk, coffee, talk.

It will tell tales of defeat
Of loss, of damage, of failure and of injuries,
If coffee can talk.

Tales of heartaches and moods downbeat
Of triumphs amidst difficulties.
Talk, coffee, talk.

Talk of crossroads where lovers meet
Or distant love over vast seas.
If coffee can talk,

It will tell of discussions and debates upbeat
Treaties signed and concessions to please.
Talk, coffee, talk.

Tell of grand festivals or a feast,
To put the old and young minds at ease
If coffee can talk.
Talk, coffee, talk.

For Sunday Scribblings

**I'm not sure if this counts as a Villanelle. Hmmm.. Does it?

Friday, September 12, 2008


I daresay, no one got it right.
I am no diseased mortal,
Nor am I a bloodied walking corpse.
I am not a monster of the night.

I am not a child of the moon.
I am not a bloodsucking murderer,
Nor am I anyone's worst nightmare.
I told you, no one got it right.

For Totally Optional Prompts

**Yes, my first ever. ^_^ I hope I got right.. or err, posted in time, even.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Recurring Cycle

Recurring Cycle
Flash Fiction

No more, please. No more.

Spasms rocked my lithe frame as another bout of pain washed over me. I gripped the flimsy blanket close to my chest, losing myself in my personal hell. My hands shivered, wet and clammy much like the rest of my body. I ground my teeth against the pain, closing my eyes and willing myself to ride the pain out. A wave of nausea followed and I could feel the bile rising from the back of my throat.

No, please.

A guttural moan reverberated throughout the room, the sound registering in my ears. It was a while before I realize that it was mine. I pain had left my ears ringing but it has subsided, leaving me queasy as I anticipated the next wave.

I gripped myself as I felt the pain staring to rise again. I flinched when I felt a warm, steady hand pressed to my forehead. I welcomed the warmth. My own skin was
cold and damp from the cold sweat that had broken out sometime after the pain went from tolerable to unbearable.

Another warm hand touched the side of my face, coupled with a soothing voice. "Sssh. I'm here now, love." The bed dipped as he lay down beside me, enfolding me in his arms.

A sob broke out against my stubborn will. "Please," I choked out the words. "Kill me now."

Gentle caresses met my request. But it did nothing for the rising crest of pain that seized me. My body rocked and I hissed, thrashing as the pain crested.

And then, peace - or something akin to it. The tiny prick of the needle on my arm was insignificant. It didn't register in my pain-addled brain. Perhaps it did.

My eyelids felt heavy and my body was humming - peacefully numb. The pain was still there, only it didn't hurt as much as it should.

His voice sounded so far way but I heard his sigh of relief. His hands were still on me, embracing me. "Sleep, Aki." he whispered.

I almost didn't catch it. I smiled and mumbled in response, "I hate being a girl."

His low chuckle was the last I heard before sleep claimed me, the pain now a mere dull throbbing at the background.


**I posted this on my DA too. This is my first shot at this.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

On Peace and War

Ceasefire? Bullshit.

I saw a debate on TV today about the issue on what to do with the conflict going on in Mindanao - all-out war or peace? One of the topics touched was the ceasefire signed by both parties for the meantime. What's ironic is, almost 50 people died including children, women and civilians. Tsk, ceasefire my ass.

I'm not on site, nor am I behind the scenes with this on-going war. I'm only a student viewing the news. But, I'm a Filipina student and that makes one hell of a difference. I could see how much this war is taking a toll on our country's economy. Oil prices are shooting up, the peso is going down, etcetera. Or maybe it's the other way around? Our plummeting economy brings out the war freaks - killing and looting.

It seemed so natural for them to say that they now own this and that land by forcing the previous owners out with the threat of possible torture and death. It was almost with glee that they mention how their side defeated the other yesterday or how they have driven out the other away from the place of power. Ah, bloodshed makes me tingle. My insides feel warm and fuzzy just thinking about that bullet lodged in my enemy's flesh.. sweet sweet murder.

Heard about the butchered 2-yr old kid? My knowledge of their religion (or even mine, for that matter) isn't as extensive as some. But I'm pretty damn sure no man/woman with a heart and who fears God or Allah can stomach butchering an innocent child.

On the question of peace or war, I strongly believe that peace is definitely the way to go. War, even used as a means to an end, is still war. Both sides will lose and ultimately, our Motherland will go the dogs.

This is the 21st century, people. We are not cavemen who solve problems by eliminating the other force. We are learned and educated individuals who, for thousands of years now, have had a system of communication. The era where grunts and growls punctuate our actions are long since over... Unless you're still stuck at the Stone Age in which case, you need some serious schooling. Peace! ^_^v

Saturday, August 9, 2008

On Writing and that b*tch, Writer's Block

I've been staring at a blank screen for the past hour. I have nothing to write about. My day was eventful, yes, and yet I couldn't find the right words to put them all down.

There! Three sentences and I have officially exhausted my knowledge of the English language.

I've got a bad case of writer's block
And, no, I'm not on crack...

See? Lame. Tsk. Anything to make it rhyme. Besides, writing about (blogging, really) writer's block won't make it go away. Or will it? I need to surround myself with people who have something important to say.

Anyway, on to updates! I have decided to start writing fiction again after my short stint on poetry. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to stop writing poetry anytime soon. It's just that I have no ideal topics in mind, plus I'm not as inspired to write as I was earlier this year.

So yeah, fiction. Here is a list of what I'm currently working on:

1. A collaboration with a friend on his series, Blood and Gore. Chapters will be written in alternate. This means that I write the odd chapters and he writes the even chapters. We started it off as him writing both Chapter One and Two as they were written before the idea of collaboration came up. I am now trying to finish Chapter Three to no avail.

2. A Part Two of my character, Captain Nicolette Joanne Blanchfleur also known as the Scorpion Rouge (Red Scorpion), leader of the Scorpion Rouge Mercenary Group. I left Part One of her story hanging because I love cliffhangers. *evil grin*

3. I have decided to try my hand at formal writing. Although I am a firm believer that too much rules constricts creativity, education does not hurt.

..and there ends this uh, how should I say this? Uneventful? Crappy? Not even worth blogging about? (What? Come on, tell me.) post.

Thursday, August 7, 2008


Yes, yes. I'm new.

It's still under construction so please bear with me. Things have been pretty hectic lately. I have an unending pile of rubbish to sort - unfinished homeworks, half-baked projects and such. My notes are strewn everywhere and hell, I can't even find my calculator! XD